


i had a heart then but the queen has been overthrown

by notthebigspoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is cold. An outdoor market in December is an ungodly thing. But it's either get out of the house under the auspices of Christmas shopping or spend another day in uncomfortable silence with a wife that he doesn't like anymore, much less love.</p><p>Title taken from Lights by Ellie Goulding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i had a heart then but the queen has been overthrown

Tony is cold. An outdoor market in December is an ungodly thing. But it's either get out of the house under the auspices of Christmas shopping or spend another day in uncomfortable silence with a wife that he doesn't like anymore, much less love. He adjusts his scarf, brings it up over his mouth before plunging on through the crowd. The lights are blinding, the people busy. All of them lost in their own little worlds. He wishes he were that lucky.

A sparkle catches his eye and he turns, stopping at a table lined with glass figurines and jewelry that glitters under the Christmas lights criss crossing the roof of the stall. He doesn't know what it is about the necklace that makes him stare. It's so simple... a plain silver chain holding a slim lapis lazuli tear drop. He reaches out, strokes the tip of his finger over the stone. When someone clears their throat, he looks up.

An elderly gentleman is smiling at him, gesturing at the necklace. “For your wife? I gift wrap. She will love.”

“How much?” Tony asks. It doesn't matter, he's already reaching for his wallet and he knows he'll pay whatever the man asks.

“For you? Sixty.”

He doesn't know anything about stuff like this. He grew up in a clapboard shack where the only piece of jewelry was his mother's wedding ring, passed through five generations. The extent of his knowledge about jewelry is that his wife spends a lot of his money on it. Not that he cares. He's a pretty simple living kind of man. As long as he can pay his bills, pay his mortgage and has a working truck, he's content in life. This necklace, to someone like his wife, is worth very little.

But he can see it around a different neck, picture the silver of the chain against tanned and corded muscles. For that, for that image, Tony would spend any amount of money in the world.

He hands the vendor three folded twenties, watches raptly as the man gently lifts the necklace up and folds it into a square of tissue paper. He tapes it shut, hands it to Tony and smiles, telling him again that his wife will love it. Tony smiles and tucks it in his pocket, turning and making tracks for the street. His wife would love it. Right. Kay would laugh at him if he brought her something like this. Good thing it's not for her.

The opera house is a twenty minute walk from the market, the temperature dropping and ice cold winds blowing the chill straight into his bones. He ducks his head against it, feels his hair blowing behind him and thinks that maybe for once he should have listened to his wife and cut it. She's been getting disgusted with it lately, telling him it makes him look like some sort of hippie. But since it's something she hates, he's clinging to it by default. No wonder their marriage is in trouble.

He hates opera, always ends up bored out of his mind and staring off into space, he's even fallen asleep a few times. But Kay, in spite of all her anger and accusations that he doesn't care about her interests, makes him go because it's what rich society people do. He goes to keep the peace, because his daddy always told him that you gotta humor the gals if you want to eat your apple pie in peace. It's been getting easier lately though... he always has a drink or three or four.

Jeans, a wool coat and a bright orange scarf are not appropriate dress for the opera. He keeps his chin up, walks with purpose because he's learned the easiest way to get what you want is to act like you deserve it. It gets him through the lobby to the bar. He sits down at the same stool he always does, shakes his hair out with his hand and waits patiently.

He doesn't wait long, just a few minutes before vodka & cranberry is being placed in front of him. He takes a drink and places it down, half smiles. “You always remember.”

“Hard not to remember you.” Alex smiles. “That hair stands out. Ever gonna cut it?”

“The wife wants me to.” Tony mutters, taking another drink. “I like it.”

“So do I.”

It's quiet. Alex moves away, starts collecting empty glasses and taking payment as the intermission ends and the bar starts to empty. He pays Tony no mind, working quickly and briskly to clean the glasses and wipe down the bar top. He hands out the last receipt, shows no emotion when a man with a black AMEX leaves no tip with a very large bill. When the man has gone, and Tony is the only one left, Alex returns, rolling his sleeves up as he goes.

“Cheap bastard. Every single time. Three years and he's never tipped. Ever.”

Tony laughs quietly. “Scrubs-esque fantasies of pushing him down that there marble staircase?”

“Just call me JD.” Alex answers, moving around the bar and taking the stool next to Tony. “So where's the wife? I know she's not here.”

“Home with the dog and her gift wrapping station.”

“A station, huh? Impressive.”

“I hate the damn thing.” Tony mutters. “Represents her perfectly though.”

“Shiny, pretty outside that masks the fact that the inside is nothing to write home about?” Alex guesses, grinning when Tony gives him a dirty look. “Don't give me that look. You're the one who married her, hoss.”

“Not one of my brighter moments.”

Alex squeezes his shoulder and nudges him. “What brings you here tonight?”

He doesn't answer, just shrugs and drains his drink, staring at the cranberries rolling around the bottom of the glass. Nobody ever puts those there except Alex, after Tony had waxed poetical one night about munching on cranberries as a kid. Not once in the year since has Alex ever forgotten the cranberries. Tony crunches down on one, glances to the side and takes a breath, reaching into his pocket.

“Gonna laugh.”

“I might.” Alex answers honestly.

Tony shrugs, places the packet in front of Alex and watches the other man unwrap and stare at it. “It's... it made me think of you.”

“What is this, Tony?”

“My clumsy attempt at starting an affair.” Tony answers morosely, dumping the last cranberry into his mouth.

Alex hums quietly, pushing the tissue paper over the edge of the bar. He lifts his hands, gently pulls the chain over his head and then gingerly holds the teardrop, looking it over. He turns to face Tony and when Tony doesn't look at him, reaches out. His fingers are strong, as calloused as Tony's own, and he turns Tony's head, looks him in the eye. He looks quietly observant, smiles and shrugs before leaning in and kissing Tony gently.

“Clumsy, yes. But I think it worked.”


End file.
